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Updated: June 22, 2025
By it I've kep' up the po' of Cottontown. I've puzzled an' wonder'd I've thought of a dozen fo'ks but I sed nothin' was it you?" The outlaw smiled: "It come from the rich an' it went to the po'. Come," he said "that's somethin' we must settle." He took up the lantern and led the way into the other room.
Feigning sleep, he thus enticed within striking distance all the timid country dogs visiting Cottontown for the first time, and viewing its wonders with a palpitating heart. Then, like a bolt from the sky, he would fall on them, appalled and paralyzed a demon with flashing teeth and abbreviated tail.
"Our virtue is all we po' fo'ks has got if we lose that we ain't got nothin' lef'," Mrs. Banks of grass-widow fame had once said, and saying it had expressed Cottontown's opinion. Mrs. Banks was very severe when the question of woman's purity was up. She was the fastest woman at the loom in all Cottontown. She was quick, with a bright, deep-seeing eye.
Up the road toward the town he drove, finally slackening his trotters' speed as he came into the more thickly settled part of the outskirts. Sand Mountain loomed high in the faint moonlight, and at its base, in the outposts of the town, arose the smoke-stack of the cotton mills. Around it lay Cottontown. Slowly he brought the nettled trotters down to a walk.
"Tell me," she said after a while, "you have moved father and Lily to to one of the Cottontown cottages?" He arose: "In a little while I will tell you, but now we must have something to eat first you see I had this lunch fixed for our journey." He went out, over to his lap-robe and cushion, and brought a basket and placed it on an old table. "You may begin now and be my housekeeper," he smiled.
I thought the entrance fee would bar any outsider." "But it didn't," said the Judge, "and you know the rules." "Let him start, let the Hill-Billy start!" shouted the crowd, and then there was a tumult of hisses, groans and cat-calls. Then it was passed from mouth to mouth that it was the old Cottontown preacher, and the excitement grew intense.
The Hillites, though lean and lanky, were swarthy, healthy and full of life. "But Cottontown," said the Bishop, as he looked down on his congregation "Cottontown jes' naturally feels tired." It was true. Years in the factory had made them dead, listless, soulless and ambitionless creatures. To look into their faces was like looking into the cracked and muddy bottom of a stream which once ran.
After two years, it was turned under, and then it was that the two thousand acres of land produced fifteen hundred bales of cotton at a total cost of four cents per pound, or twenty dollars per bale. And this included everything, even the interest on the money and the paying of seventy-five cents per hundred pounds to the Cottontown children for picking and storing the crop.
He also knew that the most expensive feature of cotton raising was the picking the gathering of the crop and in the children of Cottontown, he saw at once that he had a quick solution one which solved the picking problem and yet gave to each growing boy and girl three months, in the cool, delightful fall, of healthful work, with pay more than equal to a year of the old cheap labor behind the spinners.
The whistle of the mill had scarcely awakened Cottontown the next morning before Archie B., hatless and full of excitement, came over to the Bishop with a message from his mother. No one was astir but Mrs. Watts, and she was sweeping vigorously. "What's the matter, Archie B.?" asked the old man when he came out.
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